


What V Knew

by Draycevixen



Series: Getting to Know You [2]
Category: V for Vendetta (2005)
Genre: Angst, Clothing Kink, F/M, Humour, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second story in the three part series, Getting to Know You.</p><p>Evey and V think they know what the other one wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What V Knew

.

V was running late, again. The truth was he’d been up on the roof for hours. Like Achilles sulking in his tent… _Bollocks, old man. More like pratting about on a roof trying to look like Frank Miller’s Dark Knight._ V folded his arms across his chest and enjoyed the play of his cloak in the wind, one booted foot stylishly propped up on the parapet. He had to confess that he’d spent much more time on rooftops looking dark and broody since he’d liberated the Miller comics from an alley behind a government incinerator. _If we’re being honest now, you love sick git, the brooding has a lot more to do with the other thing you picked up in an alley._ Not that he thought of Evey as a thing. He left the objectifying to her.

***

His attraction to Evey had been immediate and terrifying. V had found himself spending far too much time reading Shakespeare’s Sonnets and not half enough time with his demolition manuals. He’d found himself cutting short his important vengeance-related errands to be home early in order to cook gourmet dinners for her. Despite knowing that his very own Esmeralda would never return his feelings, he’d been content, feeling that a bond of affection was developing between them, that Evey had come to regard him as she might a loveable puppy... albeit a Rottweiler puppy.

That was until the night he’d been unexpectedly detained by a new patrol. There’d only been four fingermen, barely worth talking about really, but he’d been careless and one of them had managed to cut his arm with a knife. V had gone home feeling like a complete fool but with a sense of anticipation. He’d expected Evey would make a fuss over him which he would then manfully shrug off. He’d rehearsed carelessly cavalier responses he would make to her lamentations as he’d returned to the gallery down darkened tunnels.

“No really, don’t make such a fuss Evey. I don’t _think_ I’ll lose the arm.”

“Dry your tears my dear. There were only four of them, no match for my weapon.” _Weapons you bloody idiot, weapons._

“Where the hell have you been? What will I do if they kill you?” had in fact been Evey’s totally unexpected salutation.

His heart had plummeted, but V had struggled not to let Evey see how much her lack of faith in him had hurt. As if he wouldn’t have acted to ensure her safety.

“Please do not worry, Miss Hammond.” His voice had been icily polite and he’d been proud of himself. His heart may have been trampled but decorum must always be maintained. “I have planned for your safety in the event of my untimely demise. I have programmed the locks. If I fail to return within two days, they will open for you. You will not be trapped in the gallery if my flesh proves weaker than my spirit.”

The truth was his flesh was only weak when it came to Evey. He’d wanted to add his heart felt wish that in the eventuality of his death she would take care of herself but had felt his further attentions would be most unwelcome. She had the power to wound him in a way that none of his enemies could. He found himself undone, wanting just this one little snip of a girl to see him as a man. But he wasn’t a man, he was an idea. But an _idea_ didn’t get hard enough to cut diamonds at the mere thought of bestowing a kiss to the nape of a girl’s neck.

V had struggled to understand Evey as her behavior had become increasingly erratic. V knew it must be his fault. She had become clumsy and skittish around him as well as being less concerned with her personal appearance. Her clothing had turned casual and minimalist, some days she didn’t even bother to change out of her nightclothes. Evidently his mere presence in the gallery upset her. V had decided to find the solution to the Evey problem in his usual way. He had gone to his books. As an idea, he knew little enough about being a man, even less about the nature of women. The only sociological book on women he’d been able to find in his library had not unfortunately proved useful in understanding Evey’s behavior. However, _The Hite Report_ had provided some stimulating late night reading.

***

 _Bugger it all. I have to go home sometime._ The fingermen’s blood has congealed and he needed to get his clothes in to a cold-water soak. Some of it had even got under his mask again. It was already late and he shouldn’t worry Evey any further about her safety.

V liked to be as silent as possible when entering the gallery. If he were lucky, there were always a few precious moments before Evey spotted him when he could just watch her unobserved. He leaned on the piano and drank her in.

Tonight she was coiled up on the sofa, an abandoned book open on her lap, as she stared off into space. She was probably dreaming of some handsome muscular hero, who would sweep her up into his strong arms and carry her away from the Gallery. She watched _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ far too often. Evey sighed heavily, and closed the book. It was _Jane Eyre_ , how could he ever hope to compare with Rochester’s passion?

As Evey shifted further in the chair, a fair expanse of perfect thigh came into view and V felt his breath quicken.

 _Speak man, before she moves any further and embarrasses us both._ “Good evening, Evey. I am surprised to find you still up.”

V kept his distance, in the hope that she wouldn’t be able to see the blood that covered his dark outfit. He should have known better. Evey dropped the book to the floor as she jumped to her feet.

“Are you injured, V? You’re so late getting back. I thought something might have happened to you.”

 _If only all that concern was for me, rather than for your own safety._ “No need to worry, Evey. The locks are still programmed.” V’s gloved fingers plucked at his cloak. _Why didn’t I change my clothes before giving in to my weakness to see her? She’s trembling. She’s obviously disgusted by my condition. Reassure her you daft bugger._ “I am a bit bloodied, but it is not my blood. I merely bumped into a few fingermen who insisted on taking a closer look at my knives. I desperately need a bath and a change of clothes.”

V stepped back, ready to leave her. Evey lurched forward, tugging on the hem of her nightshirt.

 _When she licks her lips in that nervous fashion I…_ V hastily pulled his cape around himself to conceal his growing interest. _Pay attention, you old lecher._ “You have something to tell me, Evey?”

Evey bit her lip hard and shook her head.

 _She’s still scared of me, despite my best efforts to make her comfortable in my home... Oh God, against that light…_ “Well, in that case, I will bid you goodnight.”

V abruptly bowed and fled, before he could blurt out something unfortunate. He hurried through the door to his room, barely restraining the urge to slam it behind him. It had happened again. Further proof, as if he needed any more proof that Evey would never see him as a man. He’d been able to see her body clearly outlined by the light of the reading lamp behind her. She’d long stopped wearing a bra under her newly skimpy outfits and now… no knickers. V punched the nearest bedpost, cracking the wood. He was glad of the temporary distraction offered by the pain in his hand. V made himself face the hard truth. If Evey saw him as a man, she’d be at pains to conceal her body from him. To her he was nothing more than a fixture of the gallery.

V saw his smiling reflection in his dresser mirror. _Well, at least one of us is taking the news well… Suck it up. You’re ill equipped to be a mooning school boy._

V sought refuge, as he often did, in routine, moving around his room sorting out a change of clothes and laying them out on the bed. He’d need a different mask because of the blood congealing under the one he was wearing. V added a mask to the clean clothes. He removed his hat and placed it on the dresser. And gloves. The ones he had been wearing were ruined. He peeled off his gloves, dropping them into the wastepaper basket before adding a fresh pair of gloves to the clothes on the bed.

 _Hmm… it almost looks like I’m building a scarecrow, but as no one is trying to get into my bed, who am I trying to scare away?_

He sat down in a chair to pull off his boots and stared at the grime caked on them with a surprising amount of satisfaction. They’d need a good clean and polish and that, at least, he knew how to do perfectly. He placed the boots neatly next to his dresser and started toward the bathroom.

 _Wig old man. You remember what happened the last time you left it in the bathroom. You looked like Harpo Marx for a couple of days._

He draped the wig on its stand and stepped through into the bathroom in his stockinged feet, leaving the door slightly ajar for ventilation and to allow the light from his bedroom lamp to filter through. He started the water running in the bath adding a few capfuls of Radox. Apart from aiding with sore muscles, he appreciated how the bubbles helped to conceal his body from even his own view. As the bath filled, he lit the candles scattered around the room.

 _If only the world could see you now, dangerous anarchist of ill-repute, armed only with bubble bath, candles and toy boats .Toy boats…_ He’d almost forgotten. His little flotilla was added to the water.

V made short work of peeling off his bloodied clothes, all dropped into the large sink in the corner which V then filled up with cold water. V knew more about getting blood stains out of clothes than any sane man should.

 _Perhaps if I’d given her a real name? Vaughn, Vartan, Victor, Vincent, Vinnie, Vic? No, it wouldn’t have helped. A madman by any other name would still be insane._

He reached into the closet, pulling his floor length bathrobe from the back of the door and placing it on the stool beside the bath. As he turned toward the bath he caught sight of himself in the mirror, body exposed except for his underwear and mask. _Not being able to give Evey a name would be the least of my problems._

He turned quickly from the mirror, pulling off his fitted briefs and socks, throwing them into the laundry basket. He unfastened his mask and checked the inside. Luckily none of the fingermen’s blood had stuck to it, only to his skin. He placed the mask on top of his bathrobe.

V lowered himself into the bath, sighing in contentment as the bubbles crept up to his chest. After he washed the blood from his face, he picked up the remote control from the ledge and checked the gallery camera on his wall monitor. Evey was nowhere to be seen. She must have gone to bed. V eased back in the bath, allowing his body to relax and his mind to return yet again to his favourite subject for continued rumination... So far, he’d merely envisioned Evey with him in the kitchen, wearing one of his spare aprons while he taught her how to cook. He’d hardly spent any time at all pondering her sprawled beside him on the sofa while he read to her from John Donne’s love poetry and handfed her chocolates. He’d only had the same disturbingly arousing dream a few times, of Evey wearing nothing but one of his spare masks while reading to him from a history of naval warfare. Evey had barely consumed his every thought.

He knew he should be content to be close to Evey. He knew that she would never stop thinking of him as her captor. He knew that he could never make an overture toward her. He knew that he was getting hard just remembering her lack of underwear. He watched his own hand, fascinated, as it descended below the bubbles on a search and destroy mission.

 _Ah…yesss…_ It was his duty to make sure this torpedo was no longer a danger to shipping. V was never one to shirk his duty.

 _Evey looked deeply into his eyes and simpered, “Take me now, big boy. Ever since you rescued me from those dreadful men all I’ve wanted to do is to rip off my knickers and be crushed to your chest by your manly arms. To hear you whisper in my ear of your eternal love…”_

 

“I want you V.” Evey’s voice floated through the door to his bedroom.

V’s hand guiltily fled to the side of the bath. _Damnation, this really is the last straw. Isn’t it enough that she doesn’t see me as a man? Now, she isn’t even worried about catching me naked._ He reached for a towel and stepped out of the bath. _But she must really need me badly to risk seeing me naked._ V hurriedly threw on and fastened his robe, putting on his mask and pulling his robe hood firmly down over his head. He paused for a moment to check his appearance in the mirror. _Everything covered… Except my hands…No time to worry about that now. Evey needs me._

He opened the bathroom door before thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. Evey was draped wantonly across his bed in the style of one of his better fantasies.

 _She’s going to get my clean clothes all wrinkled… You really are sick old man… Look at her for God’s sake. When will you ever be lucky enough to see this again?_ “Evey, I thought I heard you call me…”

She lifted her head from his wrinkled trousers to stare blindly at him.

 _Why is her hand in my trousers?_ V crossed the room toward her. “What on earth are you doing with my clothes, Evey?” _Why is your hand in my trousers when I’m not in them? Get a grip!_

Evey looked up guiltily at V. She seemed to be struggling for words.

“I was hoping to fond… find. Find, yes. Find. Keys. Gallery.” Evey nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, that’s it. I was hoping to find your keys to the gallery.”

 _In my crotch?_ “Inside my trousers?”

Evey nodded vigorously again.

 _The poor girl’s terrified of you. Look how flushed she is._

“I’d already checked the rest of your clothes. No pockets. I thought perhaps there was a secret… inside your trousers… A secret pocket inside your trousers. I’m sorry, V, truly, you’ll never know how sorry I am.”

 _She wants so badly to be free of you that she’s willing to break into your room and ransack your clothes._

V tried to conceal his crushing disappointment by falling back on routine again. Order always had a calming effect on him. As she shrank away from him, pulling her legs tighter into her body, V was careful to let the long sleeves of his robe cover most of his hands as he set about straightening his clothes.

 _Look how tense she is, legs locked together like she might wet herself from sheer terror._ “There’s no need to be scared of me, Evey.”

He couldn’t look at her any longer, feeling as if his disappointed expression might burn right through his mask.

“I’m sorry that you’re so miserable here, but I still can’t permit you to leave the gallery.”

V brushed at his doublet that lay wrinkled on the bed, and ran his fingers tightly down the crease in his trousers. He picked up one of his gloves.

“I’m not miserable, V.”

 _Why was she talking so loudly? Only one._

Evey coughed to attract his attention and handed him his spare mask from where it rested on the pillow.

He placed it on his bedside table and turned over the rest of the clothes on the bed.

 _Still only one glove._

“I think I should be going now, V. Sorry again.”

She started to inch her way carefully across the bed, legs still locked together.

“Evey… Where’s my other glove?”

 

.


End file.
